


First Rites

by Fantine_Black



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Murder, Credence Barebone Crying During Sex, Doggy Style, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feudalism, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fuck Or Die, Good Original Percival Graves, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Missionary Position, Multi, Naked Cuddling, Non-Sexual Submission, Past Rape/Non-con, Politics, Ritual Sex, Sleepy Cuddles, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Stabbing, Strategy & Tactics, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24014980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: Queen Seraphina's reign of the land of MACUSA has been dominated by her fight against the Second Salemers, a fight that is now all but won. Sir Percival, General of Her Majesty's armed forces, is awaiting orders for the final attack, but instead is sent on a diplomatic mission into Salem territory. The Queen orders Percival to participate in the First Rites of an unknown Second Salem girl, guiding her into womanhood and bonding their territories together once more.It soon becomes clear that neither party is acting in good faith, however, and what is meant to be a joyous occasion is part of a deadly game of lies.Because the girl's a boy, and that insult cannot stand.
Relationships: Credence Barebone & Original Percival Graves, Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves, Original Percival Graves & Seraphina Picquery
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. All is fair in love and war

**Author's Note:**

> First Rites is a concept from the Earth's Children Series. In that series, young Cro Magnon girls have their first sexual experience in a ceremony with an older man, who helps them find out what feels good. So of course I transported this to a fictional medieval feudal society, because I could. Here, young girls still have their first sexual experience with a trusted family friend. In theory, this happens as soon as the girl herself feels ready and willing with a partner of her choosing, but of course sometimes that's not the way it goes. The Second Salemers oppose this practice (they're against pre- and extra-marital sex), and also they're still an abusive cult.

Percival put down his drink. “No.”

The Queen's face was completely impassive.

“No!”

She rolled her eyes. “Men and their ego -”

He looked at her. “My ego has suffered a lot on your behalf, and gladly. This is an insult to the troops.”

She smiled. “How? They'll be wined and dined, not to mention paid and pleasured.”

He shook his head. “I am handing you victory on a silver platter. People have died for this, Seraphina. It's too late for concessions, we've lost more than this fight is worth already.”

She smiled at him. “And so you'd have more troops die, still.”

He stood up. “My Queen, they're owed revenge when there's no glory to be had.”

Now she laughed. “Glory! There's no glory in slaughter, only in songs.”

“Even so.” He grabbed his cup. “Tomorrow, Second Salem will be torched, and that's the end of it, and not a day too soon.”

She frowned. “I'm not in the habit of torching my own earth, Percival.”

He smirked. “You would do so in a heartbeat.”

“Well, yes.” Now she drank, too. “But not many know.”

“So please explain why I should go face that Barebone woman with a peace offering.” She'd not seen them die, women and men, in this filthy backwater, not seen how Yusuf Kama, an allied Prince no less, was now wormsmeat, all because of that zealot and her insane cult. Burning that place would be kind.

His Queen flashed a smile.

“Because she'd hate it.”

Now he rolled his eyes. “Sera, this isn't a ladies' painting group, this is...”

“Do not patronise me, General.”

Few men understood how this woman had sat herself unto the throne of MACUSA, when Percival knew very well. He nodded. “No disrespect intended. Still -”

She straightened. “All the lords merely think this woman stupid. Unversed in tactics. Easily slain.”

Percival snorted. “She's hardly a military genius, ma'am.”

“She wants to be torched.”

Percival frowned. “Then let's oblige her.”

The Queen rolled her eyes. “You're smarter than that!”

Percival sat down. “So she wants to be a martyr. Ma'am, she wouldn't be the first. But I can tell you from experience, she is absolutely nuts, and could do far less damage dead than alive.”

She shook her head. “You sound like Lord Shaw.”

“Sera,” Percival said. “A myth that causes problems in five generations is hardly your immediate concern. You're right to move against her, I've always said so. But this... gesture will lose you what little respect you yet hold in the Lords' Council, and if you want to quarter me for saying it, it's true.”

His Queen laughed. “The Lords already respect me less than they respect their serving maids, General. Their loyalty will last about as long as my gold.”

“Right,” Percival said. “Glad we are in agreement. So when they inevitably rise up, you will do what? Throw them a banquet?”

Sera cocked her head. “I will seize their lands and assets and feed them to their serfs,” she said quietly. Percival blinked. “It's not if they rise up, General, you're right. And I'd rather they underestimate me when they do."

Percival sank down near the fire. “Why did you even want this job?”

She smiled again. “Have you seen my courtiers?”

He blinked. “Every day when I was a boy.”

“Not the bloody men,” she scoffed. “Their sisters. Daughters.” She licked her lips. “Wives.”

Percival stood up. “Is that why you're doing this?” he whispered. “Want to see me in bed with a pretty young thing?” He walked back. “Wanna watch?”

“For _fuck_ sake, Percival.” She turned pale, her eyes dark.

“That is what you're asking me to do, isn't it? Bed a girl to seal the peace? Even if you dress it up – ”

She rose. “You, sir. You forget yourself.”

“Do I?” he said. “You have mounted an expensive military campaign you have just told me you cannot really afford, with the express aim to wipe out Second Salem. Which is, apparently, exactly what that Barebone bitch wants, too. The only thing _we_ stand to gain from this is an arid wasteland that is no use to anyone, and rather than wreck the place and have it over with, you propose to broker an aliance between us and these insurgents by offering them First Rites. A political move which will not only weaken your position among the Lords, but will also mock the sacrifices my troops made to force Second Salem to their knees in the first place.” He took a deep breath. “Why, my Queen? Because it's sexy?”

She rose up to her full height. “You have counselled me that I cannot tolerate insurgence this early in my reign and you were right, sir,” she said. “I can't, and won't stand for it, not from anyone.”

He stared her down, unflinching. She smirked. “But you are no better than your lord father if you think that offering an alliance to that woman is weakness. Thanks to the Lords' Council, there are far more weak and poor people in MACUSA than any Queen could hope to appease for long. If this Salem ideology spreads any further, I have no hope to make it ten years before the poor rise up, and then we'll all be dead.”

“This won't make them any richer,” Percival said.

“No, of course not.” She sighed. “But, General, if the poor see that I am not above bestowing honor on the lowly, they might grant me enough time to get our food supply in shape, and I can't do this without ousting Lord Grindelwald especially.” She sank down. “His sheep eat better than his farmers, it's a disgrace.”

Percival would give anything to stand on a bloodsoaked battlefield right now. “Even if I get my troops on board, Second Salem won't accept this,” he said softly. “First Rites go against everything they stand for.”

“Yes, you told me they were nuts,” she said.

Percival sighed. “Is it so strange?” he said. “I, more than you, am their enemy, Seraphina. A stranger. Would you let me have one of your courtiers under these circumstances?”

She looked at him, suddenly very tired. “General, please. Please get your head out of your ass. Do you think First Rites are always joyful?”

He shrugged. “We had a good time, didn't we?”

“Yes,” she said. “And of course you assume that therefore everyone's are holy, and merry and sweet, because you're actually a good man.” She put a hand on his arm. “To outlaw them altogether is ridiculous and harmful, but some girls don't have good parents, or no parents, and...” She closed her eyes. “Still, this is the best option for her.”

Percival blinked. All the girls he ever spoke to thought of their First Rites with glee. The children from such unions were highly favored everywhere, even if they couldn't inherit – they were considered lucky and had no trouble climbing the ranks of any court, monastery or even guild. Young mothers, meanwhile, could see their marriage offers treble after such a blessing.

Leave it to the Salemers to look upon First Rites as a defilement.

“She's not going to say yes,” Percival repeated. “The Barebone woman.”

Sera leant back. “It doesn't really matter. If we destroy her, she might gain sympathy among our poor, which she is counting on. But, with this offer...” She smiled lightly. “If she refuses, I have every moral right to burn her to the ground, and I will. Not even our farmers would tolerate her spitting on such an honor. If she accepts, though, she betrays everything she stands for. Either way, I win.”

Percival drank the last of his wine.

“There's still the troops, and the Lords' Council to contend with,” he said, feeling tightness settle in his shoulders.

Seraphina stood up. “Tell the troops they can have their sacking if my offer is refused. Either way, they will be handsomely rewarded. As for the Council,” and here she grinned, “leave them to me.”

He bowed. “My Queen.”

She looked at him, then put a hand on his face. “I know you like boys better,” she said, eyes glinting, “but take one for the team, Percival. You did an admirable job before.”

“Get out of my tent, would you,” he snapped. “Girls like me just fine.”

“I know they do, sweetheart,” she said. “That's why I picked you.”

\---

It was alright to be nervous, Percival decided.

Not because of the Rites themselves. But he had to get onto their terrain, and the Salemers were a crafty bunch. Entourage or no, someone would try to kill him. The little girl the woman had brought to the negotiations alone seemed to want to strangle him with her thoughts. But she was also frighteningly thin. Percival hoped she understood he was saving her life here.

Even so, everything had been set up, false pleasantries and all. They had moved into Salem land, stared at by hungry eyes in hollow faces. Food had been brought in that afternoon, and both his troops and Salemers – soon to again be subjects – had prepared for festivities, although the mood was anything but festive. True, a good part of his infantry seemed relieved this was over. The officers, all noblemen, were less settled, but they soon admitted that whatever the Queen offered was more than a sacking of this place could ever hope to bring them. Like Percival had predicted, the stupider among them openly questioned their Lord's loyalty to this soft hearted creature, but she paid well, and in the meantime, they could focus on mocking Percival to their hearts' content.

Even Goldstein and Scamander, two of his most trusted officers, couldn't keep their faces straight. Theseus found the whole thing hilarious, while Tina, one of his fiercest fighters, kept blushing like a twelve year-old. “Sweet memories, ey?” Theseus ribbed eventually, which made Tina look up. “Shut up. My parents died young.”

“Apologies,” Theseus said after a moment's pause, but then the shit eating grin returned. “Perhaps the General can do the honors after, right, sir?”

“If someone tries to kill you, I won't stop them,” Percival snapped.

Soon they spotted the ritual guard, but first they were approached by a group of women, one more plain faced than the other. In front of the group was, again, Mary Lou Barebone, accompanied by a girl of about the right age.

All wore black.

“Welcome, honored guests,” she said in a tone that made his skin crawl. “May I present my daughter, Chastity.”

“For all the gods' sake,” Theseus said beside him. The girl was staring at her shoes, trembling. Tina looked scandalised. Percival thought that the breach of protocol was not what had got her so worked up, either. He wasn't supposed to meet the girl outside their chambers, or, in this case, tent, but even so – the poor thing was anything but ready. There was no shame in waiting a few years for a moment like this, and he hated that her mother apparently did not care a whit for her daughter's terror.

Maybe he should torch them after all.

“My apologies,” he said through gritted teeth. “I came at the wrong time. If your daughter needs time to prepare, we -”

“O no,” the mother said, all fake bluster. “Chastity will not be the one honored by your presence. She's merely here to guide you to your... abode.”

If he'd wanted any of this, he would have become a diplomat, but even so he managed to maintain his composure. “In that case, dear Chastity, please accept this offering as a token of Her Majesty's favor, and my thanks.”

It was a very expensive soap bearing Sera's crest. More useful, in these circumstances, than any jewel.

The girl curtsied, mumbling, and then the mother pushed her forward. She still looked terrified, but kept walking, leading them to the tent that had been brought in for the occassion. It was relatively modest, but still stuck out like a sore thumb among the devastation. Chastity seemed to think it would swallow her whole.

“It's here,” she said, gruffly, before turning away. The mother was nowhere in sight, and Tina and Theseus shared a look before going in for an extra safety sweep. When Theseus came out, the mirth had left his eyes. “All clear, sir,” he said, before turning his head away. Tina came out moments later, looking no less shaken. “The child looks terrified.”

“That's not unusual, Tina, on nights like this,” he said, sounding surer than he felt. “But I can't actively refuse her without shaming everyone involved.” He cupped her face. “I'm here to help the girl, not the other way around.”

Tina looked at him. “Sir, I don't think she knows that.”

“Of course she...” Then he looked at her. “She has no idea what's going on, does she?”

Tina shook her head.

“She should have been informed,” Percival breathed out. “There's too much at stake! If we break this off for any reason...”

“The deal is off. She's dead. I know,” Tina said softly.

“They're all dead.”

_Get your head out of your ass, Percival. Do you think First Rites are always joyful?_

He took a breath. “I'll try to salvage this for the girl's sake, but...” He looked at their weapons.

Theseus nodded. “Understood.” He bit his lip. “With respect, sir – the Queen's a right bitch, putting a young girl in this position.”

“That's why she's Queen. Get to your post, Captain. And you, Colonel.”

They nodded. “Sir.”

Percival closed his eyes for a moment. Every instinct told him he was about to walk into a trap, whatever clever machinations Sera had set in motion. First Rites weren't meant for this. They should help girls on their way in life, not force them into battle.

But here he was.

The tent looked servicable enough: the food, and fire, cushions. The scented oils burning, the soft rugs. There was even music outside, although there was no calming lute, no soft murmur of women's voices close by, lending moral support.

Nothing but a child in a thick black veil, cowering in a corner, sobbing her eyes out, a shabby white dress covering long thin limbs.

 _Her people killed my men_ , Percival couldn't help thinking. _I saw them die in front of me_. But in his heart he only felt pity.

“I can't know what you've heard about me,” he said softly. “But I'm not here to fight. That is over, my girl.”

The shaking intensified.

Percival smiled. “Truly. There's no need to be afraid. You and I, we'll bring peace to your family.”

He crouched down and took her face between his hands. “No, please,” she sobbed, but he smiled again.

“Out you come now, darling.”

He lifted the veil with a soft hand... and the world stopped spinning.

Before him, crouched down, sat a _boy_.


	2. Game change

His next move was pure instinct. He hit the boy, hard, and used the confusion to wrestle him, facedown, on the floor.

"Drop 'em!" 

The boy whimpered as Percival pushed his knee into the small of his back. "Help me..." 

"Your weapons. Drop them!" 

"Help me..." 

Percival checked his wrists, then pried open his hands, but found nothing, just skin thick with scars. "Fuck sake," he hissed, yanking off the veil, finding a naked, white neck under a cropped head of black hair, and shoulders that were trembling in a dress that was now a touch obscene. He grabbed the hem and pulled it up, feeling around the boy's thighs and ankles for anything strapped there, but only felt scars, wrapped around his slim thighs and his buttocks, fresher welts on his back.

Thrashed worse than a serf, a dog even.

"Please sir," the boy brought out, "please, I didn't..." 

He was cringing, trying to curl up, and even though Percival did force open his mouth to check for hidden blades, pieces of glass, that kind of thing - short range a small weapon would do - he knew he'd find nothing. The boy was completely limp to his touch, trying to cooperate - a good boy, Percival realized, and something _twisted_ inside of him at that realization. He wanted his hands on him, wanted...

But the boy had comitted high treason, not to mention sacrilege, and the only place Percival should put his hands was on his neck - to snap it.

What monster would do this to a boy?

He stood up, dragged the cowering boy to his feet. "One wrong move, and you're on my blade," he hissed. "Do you understand that?"

"Sir. Yes sir," he hiccuped.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you. Is there an ambush, any kind of force out?"

Now the boy laughed, a little unhinged. "No, sir, you beat us, you beat us weeks ago -"

Percival grabbed his hair. "Keep it together, lad. What is your name?"

Those eyes, looking straight into his soul. "I'm Credence Barebone, sir..."

"So, what is this? Some kind of envoy on your mother's behalf?"

"Nooooo," and now he was convulsing in hysterical giggles, half of them sobs, and he fell to his knees again, burying his face in his hands. Percival grabbed his dress. "Gods, boy - "

He startled when the boy grabbed his knees. "Please, sir," he brought out. "Please don't kill me!"

Percival crouched down. "I am trying very hard not to, don't you understand? Credence?"

But the boy was a mess. He wasn't sure the sister would have been as much trouble.

Percival sighed. The situation had one thing going for it - they had time. Second Salem may have no allies to speak of, and very little reserves, but he was certain they were waiting for a signal - his signal. His outrage, presumably, at this act of mockery.

And Percival _was_ outraged, but not on behalf of himself, his Queen, or any gods that might be watching this. No. It was on behalf of their scapegoat.

He put a hand on the boy's neck. "You cannot wear that," he whispered. "It's disrespectful."

The boy froze again, and Percival took off his cloak. "Here," he said, draping it over his shoulders. "Take that dress off, use this instead. I won't look."

The boy looked astonished, which was good, as at least they were on the same page then. "Wear this, sir?"

Percival lifted his eyebrows. "I am no priest, but I have some regard for what's holy. That dress is an insult, and at least this is menswear." He stepped back and turned around. "What do you drink?"

The boy hesitated. "Drink?"

"Are you going to repeat everything I say?" Percival said. "What do you take? Ale, mead, wine?"

Credence was silent for a moment. "I've never had wine, sir," he said quietly.

"Would you like some?"

His shoulders dropped. "Yes, sir. Please."

He looked far too pretty in that dress, and Percival had to concentrate. Which wasn't easy in air thick with oils and incense, let alone with a beautiful, tearful boy at his feet.

"You'll like this wine," he said after pouring two cups, his back pointedly turned. "It's from the coastal region. The grapes are very sweet - "

But the boy was crying again, tears streaking black smudges over his face - they'd rimmed his eyes with kohl, then, and Percival didn't know if he felt disgusted or excited by that. It hardly mattered, with the boy sagged on the floor, Percival's cloak pooling around him, weeping -again - like his heart would break.

It wasn't cowardice, he knew that. Of course he knew. Not even fear. It was despair and who could blame him, but he seemed broken, like a mother cradling the body of her butchered son, all desperate strength faded into nothingness. He was too young for this, to have his spirit crushed by the weight of life, and Percival couldn't help himself, he dropped to his knees in front of him. "Shhh," he said, lightly petting his head, "shhh."

The boy's whole body convulsed, and Percival saw his fingers clench into the fabric. "Please help me," he choked out, "sir, help me - I need _help_ \- "

Percival's hand tightened on his shoulder. "This is what we're going to do," he said. "You are going to stand up, and sit in that chair by the fire, and then you are going to drink your wine until you remember to breathe again, and I'll have mine too." He cupped the boy's face. "Can you do that?"

He bit his lips, eyes downcast, and nodded.

"Good boy. Up you get."

He shuddered at those words, but let Percival help him up, gripping Percival's right arm with his left as he was guided upright. Percival steered him to the fire with his hand at the small of his back, because fuck it, nobody had signed up for any of this and he liked doing it. Once Credence sat, Percival handed him his cup, which he immediately spilled. "Oh -"

Percival grabbed a cloth from beside the fire, where they lay next to the jugs with warmed water. "Shh, it's OK, he said to the boy, who looked at the dark stain spreading over his chest with horror. "The laundress won't thank me, but it'll come out - "

But the boy was panicking again, so Percival grabbed him and held him close to his chest. "Deep breaths, now," he said. "Very deep breaths." 

"G-going to k-kill me," the boy gasped, tears drenching the front of Percival's tunic. 

Trouble was, he wasn't exactly wrong. Percival was rather stumped on how to prevent that. Abernathy, the simpering High Priest, would be salivating at the mere thought. 

He grasped him more tightly. "I didn't come here to kill. But if we are to save your life, all your lives, I need you to -" 

"N-not you," the boy said in response, "m - my Ma, they..." 

Percival blinked. "Your mother is going to kill you?" 

Some affirmative sniffles, another flood of tears.

"Credence. What did she say. Tell me."

The boy pulled back. "Do you think I'm a freak?" 

He took a breath. "No. Credence. What's going on?" He cupped his face. "Help me." 

"She says," he started trembling again, "God demands a sacrifice. For my sins." 

"For your sins?" Percival said, "Whatever did you do?" 

"I'm bad," he said, clenching his fists, "wicked, unnatural..." 

"She thinks you're a witch?" 

The boy nodded miserably. 

Percival stroked his hair. "And what if you are? I've never seen it work, but..." 

The boy recoiled. "You've done witchcraft?" 

"Of course," Percival said. "Every soldier does some Divination. I don't set much store by it, though." 

"I have dreams," the boy said, ulmost inaudibly. "They... come true. And, I..." 

He cringed together once more. Percival pulled him close again. He didn't know what made him say it, but he did know he was right. "You like boys, don't you, Credence?" he whispered, mouth close to his ear. 

Credence let out another loud sob, and Percival stroked his back. He'd struggled with this himself, but going by what he knew of that Barebone bitch, the welts on Credence's back started to paint a relatable picture.

Still. "That doesn't explain why you're here."

Again, the stiffening, and the miserable submission, though it was hard to cower with Percival's arms around him. "Sir, forgive me," he said, "I meant no disrepect, I'll do penance, I -"

Percival put a hand on his neck, squeezed. "Sh," he said. "That's between you and the gods. But Credence, I need to know why she did this, if I am to make a good case to the Queen..."

Credence gulped. "The... the Queen?"

"I need you to be pardoned," he said. "For... at least attempted murder and sacrilege, and that is if I can hold my troops back." Credence shook, and he squeezed again. " _Don't cry,_ boy. I need you to help me."

He looked up. "You'd... pardon me?"

He stroked his cheek. "It's not up to me, but I can try."

And again he found himself with arms full of boy. "Thank you," he said. "O, sir, thank you..." 

And now Percival just held him. It had been much too long since he'd held anyone close that wasn't directly related to him. Theseus had his eye on a Lady-in-waiting to Queen, and much as he wanted to be gracious about it, that had been a bit of a blow. He himself was so drenched in warfare that he didn't think anyone else could really understand, and much as he would have liked to have married Sera, a niece to the King had different prospects than the Queen of MACUSA herself.

This, then, was a feeling both incredibly simple and nearly unobtainable, and he did not want to let go -

The boy startled at a sound; one of the guards, most likely. "They can't come here," Percival whispered. "Not till morning..." 

Morning.

They both seemed to understand simultanously; Credence pulled back, and Percival dipped the cloth into the hot water jug to clean his face. "Thank you," Credence whispered, eyes down, and Percival left some kohl on his lids - it really was insanely pretty. He stood up himself, and poured the boy another drink - ale, this time, lest his cloak would be completely ruined. They sat silent while they drank it, trying to find some comfort in the crackling of the logs.

When at last their breathing had evened out, Percival started with the obvious.

"Your mother did not reject the Queen's proposal."

Credence shook his head. "No sir."

"I assume this was done to buy time."

Credence nodded.

"She has no allies. No supplies. What does she hope to achieve?"

Credence looked straight at him. "Immortality."

Percival scoffed. "Look, if it's matyrdom she wants, she could have rejected us."

"Not matyrdom, sir," Credence said quietly. "Not after what the Queen did to us."

"She'd argue - "

"Sir, forgive me, but her Majesty was very clever," Credence said. "She left Ma no way to stay untarnished."

Percival had to keep his composure with some effort, even though he knew Credence was merely repeating her words. "I wouldn't put it like that to the Queen."

Credence looked down. "No sir. Forgive me. But Ma -" He shook his head. "She... does not care about this life. Or us." He took a gulp of his ale. "She says will be in Paradise, if we..." He was shuddering again. "If we die pure, cleansed. Unsullied by this..." he shrugged and made a vague gesture hand gesture, pointing at the tent and everything in it.

Percival smirked. "And yet here we are."

Credence bit his lip. "I thought she'd say no. I believed she'd say no. That we'd be in Paradise, like she said. That it'd be over." Now he was shaking, but his face showed a deep anger. "She lied to us, sir. She lied to us all."

Percival leaned forward. "And how did she lie, Credence?"

"There _is_ no Paradise," he said, and his tone cut through Percival's being. "If she cared, if she _actually_ cared, she would not deceive, she would not do this, she - "

"Take a breath, my love," he said, and the word hung heavy between them.

"There is no love," Credence spat. "She doesn't love, _God_ doesn't love, she -"

"Credence." And the boy looked up at him. "Credence. What does she want."

"To mock you," he said, very softly. "If this gets out, you look a fool, the Queen looks a fool..."

"And you're all dead," Percival said.

Credence looked at him, softly shaking his head.

"Of course you are," Percival bristled. "There is no way she's letting any of you walk after this."

"But they will tell the story," Credence whispered, "about how she tricked the Queen, how she wouldn't yield to her debauchery, even when she was given no option but to accept..."

Percival frowned. "She was given every option!"

Credence cringed together. "That's not how she sees it, sir. Death or defilement -"

"If it was a question of honor, she could have refused." Percival looked around tent. "No need for this fanfare."

Credence blinked. "Do you not fear your gods, sir?"

"Never noticed much of them," he said, even though he had to admit this whole setting was making him a bit lightheaded.

Credence looked down. "You must not know many serfs." Percival shrugged, and he saw Credence swallow. "Sir, what I remember - mocking the gods does not go over well with them."

And there he was right, of course. Percival knew as well as any other that Seraphina's power rested heavily on her favor with common men, and where common men were concerned, Priests were never far behind. However terrible Seraphina's revenge, this insult could land her in hot water with both her serfs and the Priests, and given her already tenuous hold on the Lords, that spelled a world of trouble.

"More wine," Percival grunted, and the boy jumped up. "No, I'll get it," he said, and Credence sunk down again. It was a pitiful sight - much as he was trying to hide it, he had to clench his fists to stop them from shaking. What could all this be to him, anyway, as by the looks of it, he and everyone he loved would be slaughtered...

Percival nursed his cup, stared into the flames. "She was never going to win," he mumbled. "Why rise up if she was never going to win?"

"She thought she could, sir, at first," Credence said softly, staring at some unchanging point. "We all thought - with God on our side, against a woman..."

Percival barked out a laugh. "She has no idea who she is up against."

Credence eyes filled with tears. "But she's won, hasn't she? In her way...? If she hurts your Queen?"

"Oh, sweet boy..." Percival crouched down before him. "How did you get mixed up in all this? Couldn't you refuse?"

"I did!" And suddenly his arms were around Percival again. "Then she said she'd..." He took a raggedy breath. "She said she b-burn me... She said it was m- my fault..."

"What?!"

Burning was indeed reserved for the most heinous crimes, and most criminals were strangled first nowadays. To do that to a young lad was close to unthinkable.

Credence was clawing at his back, all his previous composure near forgotten. "Please, sir," he whispered. "When her Majesty won't forgive us..." He clenched a fist. "Please make it q-quick..."

"No!" Percival recoiled. "I'm not going to kill you, and I will not let..."

But immediately he felt completely deflated. What could he do? It might be kinder if _he_ did it, might be -

No. The boy was under his protection.

Never before had Percival seen a situation he could not reason or punch his way out of. Now these women had him trapped - Seraphina, with her politics; the Barebone woman with her fanatism. He? He had a tent, some fine cushions, and the anger in his heart.

_I refuse to bow down any longer._

He couldn't rightly say where these thoughts came from, but he felt ready to punch his way through the crowd, take the boy and run, gods knew where, a hole in the ground or a commandeered castle. But Credence wouldn't get very far. He was more than half starved; Percival wouldn't keep him alive on foraged berries and trapped game. At least here, now, there was food and warmth and comfort to be had, if he wanted it.

He put a palm on the boy's cheek. "Credence," he whispered, "what would you have from me?"

They boy frowned, panted, completely unsure. Percival put his other hand on his arm. "Close your eyes."

His eyes shot to Percival's tunic, and his blade, but then did so. Gods, he was offering him his _life_ , and Percival choked at the power of it. He put a hand in the hollow of his neck, felt his heartbeat hammer against his palm. "You are not going to die. Not here, not tonight." 

Credence's eyes shot open, and Percival stroked his cheek. "I came here to love you, and save you, and I am going to find a way..."

The realization was like a trickling stream. "Credence," he panted, filled with wonder. "Tell me true. Have you ever been loved like this?"

The boy shook his head.

He pulled back, stood up, and took another few steps away from him. "Credence, tell me. By all that is holy and good - has anyone touched you, ever?"

A spasm of pain came over his face. No, he shook, over and over. Percival knelt again in front of him. "Then... would you accept?"

Credence looked him straight in the eyes. "Sir, I... Please, what..."

Percival grasped his hands, those hardened, battered hands, and squeezed them. "Your Ma thinks I'd reject you. That's what all this is based on. But I see no reason to." He brushed some hair out of the boy's face. "So I ask you, Credence they call Barebone, are you willing to partake in these, your First Rites?"

He pulled up his shoulders. "But... I'm not a girl."

"I don't think you need to be." Percival smiled. "If you're willing to honor the gods, and I am, too, nobody can argue to came here to desecrate anything. You came to honor the treaty, as I did. To service your people and the Queen, as commanded."

Credence bit his lips. "But sir, I'm not a girl!"

"Let the Priests argue about that, if it comes to it." Percival couldn't help grinning. "You're untouched, and if you're willing, nobody says you have to get pregnant. Girls don't always do, either."

Credence sat very still before looking him in the eye again. "You - you, sir... you'd have me?" 

Percival took Credence's right hand between his own. "Yes, I'd have you, Credence Barebone," he said very softly. "What say you?" 

Credence blushed. "I... don't know what to do." 

Percival smiled. "Say yes." 

Credence sat up. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

Percival took Credence's right hand in his own. "Then we pray." 


	3. To be worthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are in no hurry to get out of their tent so I thought I might as well give you a teaser... I knew Percival was meticulous, but damn he's not taking any shortcuts where his boy is concerned!

The boy followed suit as he knelt. "Mighty Gods, we ask your blessing for this union as we serve and honor you," Percival said, loving the closeness of the boy as their foreheads rested against each other. "May you fill us with your spirit, light and wisdom, as we offer up our pleasure and take comfort in each other in your name." 

The boy blinked. "Pleasure?" 

Percival touched his face. "Not much honor in hardship, is there?" 

Credence's eyebrows creased, his jaw clenched and he grasped Percival's hand more tightly. Percival pulled him towards himself. "There will be no pain tonight," he hummed, resting the boy's head against his chest.

The boy gasped. "I'll be good, sir." 

Gods almighty, was he trying to turn him on? "Credence," he whispered, stroking his head, "it is I who has to be good to you." 

Credence merely cuddled a bit closer. 

Gods, I could kiss him, Percival thought. Kiss him forever. 

Then the boy's stomach gave a low growl. 

Right. Of course they hadn't fed him, Percival felt no need to ask. Of course not. So he helped him up very gently, and led him to the bedding area. Credence hesitated, and Percival squeezed his hand. "All in due time. I need you to grab some blankets and cushions and bring them to the fire. Make yourself comfortable there while I get your food." 

Credence nodded dutifully, but gathered up only one pillow and blanket. "More," Percival said. "Bring too many, Credence." 

He gathered up some more, but seemed uncomfortable doing it. He placed them down and then looked up at Percival. "Is this right, sir? I don't want to be slothful, or... You said it was a ritual, and..." 

He cupped the boy's cheek. "Sh. You're doing well, love. Do you need to pray some more?" 

He pressed his lips tightly together and nodded, knelt on the bare floor rather than a carpet, everything about him looking as if asking forgiveness for an imposition, rather than preparing for a glorification. This poor brave boy, doing what he could, doing all he could, for those who'd cast him out that same day - it boggled the mind.

_Let me be worthy of him._

Percival gathered some platters, then took his knife to the beef in a thick wine sauce. It all wasn't lavish - the food was picked for sensation and flavor, not nourishment. They were supposed to have eaten before, and of course Percival had, but Credence - well. It might be for the best. When faced with a whole pheasant, he would have eaten himself sick in his state.

It was up to him, Percival, that he didn't overdo it, and so Percival brought him a selection of beef in wine, little pieces of bread, cheese, carrot and turnip; there were nuts and olives and dates, another small cup of wine. He put it all down next to the kneeling boy, built him a little nest of blankets and pillows, then put two hands on his shoulders and leant over to whisper in his ear: "When you're ready, lean back against me."

He did near instantly, and Percival laid him sideways, down unto the cushions, and tucked the blankets around him. Something akin to pain flickered over the boy's face. Percival rubbed his arm. "I'm here, and I'll help you eat," he whispered. "We need to make sure your stomach can take it, that way you can eat more than if you try to tackle big portions right now." 

He was this close to protesting, Percival could see it, but he lowered his eyes and nodded.

Such a good boy.

Percival sat down and wrapped his arms around Credence from behind. "Comfortable?" A tremor passed through him, but he nodded. "Good. I'm glad." Percival dipped into the blankets and closed his left hand around Credence's wrists. "I know it goes against every instinct, but I am going to feed you, and slowly. And that might hurt, dear one, but I am asking you to bear it, and chew very well for me." 

Credence looked down, breathed in, and nodded.

"So good of you," Percival said, and Credence shook again. "I promise you it will be easier it with every bite." 

"Yes, sir," Credence said very quietly. "Thank you, sir." 

Graves cuddled him in response. "Good. Here comes the first bite." 

He dipped the piece of bread in sauce, slowly brought it to Credence's lips. The boy took it, chewed, and moaned, before completely turning into Percival's chest. "Shh, it's alright," Percival said, holding the shivering boy. "Just you eat, you'll feel better very soon." 

"It's so much, sir," he brought out, voice low and pained.

"I've got you," Percival whispered. "Chew well and swallow, and there'll be more, and the pain will stop." 

He lay there a moment longer before he nodded. "Yes sir." 

Percival smiled. "You're doing so well," he murmured. "Here comes meat."

Credence suckled on his fingers a little when he ate that. "Hey now," Percival said. "Watch it!" 

Credence looked down. "So good, sir." 

Percival grinned. "Then you must have more."

When he fed him the next piece, Percival let his middle finger and thumb rest on his chapped lower lip. Credence closed his eyes and pursed his mouth, leant his head back on Percival's shoulder and Percival felt he could cry with it. It fed such a deep hunger within him, and part of him wanted to hold Credence only, still and safe and warm, but the boy's muscles tightened ever so slightly with each morsel of nourishment, and he could not let his thoughts waver. It was a privilege in itself, to feed the life back into him, but when Credence stopped a moment and sighed, then turned his face into Percival's neck, he let himself hold him, and stroke the exhaustion from his face.

"Thank you, sir," Credence murmured again.

Percival pressed a kiss on his head. "Thank the Gods," he whispered. "Can you take more, beautiful boy?" 

"Yes, I can sir," he said. "If it please you." 

"It does so very much," Percival said. 

It was meditative, in a way. Bite after bite after bite, though Percival increased the pieces in size as it seemed the boy could take it. Bringing life instead of death, rest instead of strife, love instead of revenge. Were the Gods turning his path? No matter. Who knew the world could be found in wondrous eyes, tentative smiles? The way he turned into him, questioning - 

"Sir?"

He squeezed his neck. "Yes, Credence?" 

"Won't you have anything?"

He offered him a piece of date. "Like this?" 

Credence nodded.

"You first." 

Credence nipped it off his fingers, chewed, looked at him. Percival smiled.

"Was that good?"

"Yes, sir." 

"May I taste?"

Credence nodded, confused, as Percival leant over to him, and pressed his lips, feather light, against the boy's. 

He gasped, Percival could feel the boy's pulse quicken. "So sweet," he murmurred. "May I taste again?" 

He nodded, four times, five, Percival leant over, and as the boy's lips parted, he licked his upper lip. "So good," he whispered. "Do you want more?" 

The boy's eyes were brimming with tears. "Yes. Please, sir."

"Then come to me, my beautiful boy." 

He sat up, pulled the boy up and closer, and kissed him. First it was very soft, coaxing the boy's lips open with his tongue, tasting sweetness, but then Credence started kissing back, making soft, whining noises in the back of his throat, pressing their bodies closer together and throwing his arms around Percival in a near-death grip. In response, Percival grabbed the back of the boy's neck and forced his face into the soft hollow between his neck and his collar bone.

"Sh, I'm here," he whispered as he held him and the boy shook, such desperate strength in a slight frame, and he stroked and rubbed him more as he felt wetness stain the front of his tunic. "It's alright, my sweet boy."

"I'm so - I'm sor- " Credence eked out, but Percival pressed him closer. "You're good, my sweet lad, you're so good," he murmured as Credence let himself fall apart. 

He had been so terrified mere minutes before, and Percival needed to cloak him in love, he had so much of it, grown still and stagnant with disuse, but Credence needed the raw might that had scared even Theseus away, and -

Percival pulled him tight and felt his heart open. No holds barred. 

They'd told him he loved too much, was quite unseemly to need it, too - Lords lacked nothing, he lacked nothing, not the warm affection of his parents nor the friendship of his peers, and to smother others in his passion -it didn't look well. But Percival had never so much as held a baby, and he was starved for it, as starved as this boy, and to feel the shaking subside as Credence pressed himself closer to his body...

"Sh," he said, "there's a good boy, there's my good boy," as Credence rubbed his cheek against his chest, begging for one more caress, a kiss...

He gave it to him. Like a dam that broke, he poured in all his love, and the boy took it, revelled in it, and it was right, so right. The boy was grinning at him, a midnight sun, and tried to straddle his lap.

"Whoa, not here," Percival beamed. "Won't you let me be soft to you, sweet one?" 

Their eyes fell on the bed, and Percival felt the boy's muscles clench. He took Credence's hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. "There will be no pain, love, remember." 

Credence looked up to him, swallowed. "Thank you, sir." 

So much pain in every inch of him already, and so little time to kiss it all away. Percival cupped his face and kissed him softly anyway, every touch warm and soft, and Credence threw his arms around him again. In response, Percival took the boy's face between his hands and peppered it with kisses. Credence giggled. "Sir...!"

Percival wasted no time. He dragged the boy up and started spinning, spinning to the music of the festivities outside, until the boy was laughing, screaming "Sir, ah, stop," in between fits of laughter, and then Percival fell back on the bed, the delighted boy atop him. Credence looked at him, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

Percival stroked his hair. "My boy." 

Credence gave a coy smile. "My sir."

That earned him another long kiss, of course, and when the boy came up for air, Percival whispered in his ear: "Let me have a look at you, beautiful."

Credence cringed together at that, but this part at least, Percival knew enough about to be firm. "Nothing I haven't seen yet, love," he said. "When I say you're beautiful, I mean it." He kissed his cheek. "Show me."

Credence squirmed. "Sir, no - I'm not, please, that's... I'm _not_..." Percival pulled him close, stifling more protestations.

"You are a miracle."

The boy lay against him, trembling, and Percival saw a single tear escaping his eye. He wiped it away with his thumb, cradling the back of the boy's head with his other fingers. "Credence, this is an important moment," he whispered. "A big change, an anointment even. You're allowed to feel it. You're supposed to, even." 

The boy's gaze found his. "Kiss me, sir, please." 

Percival smiled. "You learn fast."

And so they kissed, and Percival felt the boy's dick harden against his thigh. He grabbed his buttock and squeezed. "Look at that," he whispered hoarsely, lips near the boy's neck. "So strong and full." 

Credence blushed into his hair and Percival could barely contain his delight. "Fetch me oil, my beautiful boy," he said, giving his bottom an extra little squeeze. Credence, grateful, scurried away, which gave Percival the chance to undo his belt and pull his tunic over his head. Naked now, and with the sight of that pert bottom in full view, he felt himself harden as well. Credence turned back, flask of oil in hand, and froze.

"Oh..." 

He kept staring, and Percival stood up to his full height, pulled his shoulders back.

"Credence. Sweet one. Come to me." 


	4. Completion

Credence grasped the flask of oil more tightly, his eyes gliding over Percival's form. He moved as in a dream towards him, and, after a moment of indecision, bent at the knee to place the oil at Percival's feet. 

"Sir," he said, breathless, near inaudible.

Percival could feel the warmth of his breath on his stiffening cock. 

Fuck. 

This was really not supposed to happen. He was to be the one serving the boy. But to see that sweet head bent for him, the only thing he wanted, the only thing he did, was put a soft stroking hand on that raven black crown, and allow Credence to kneel in full, palms on his knees, draped in nothing but Percival's own cloak.

_Yes,_ something in his gut said _. Yes, this._

_This._

But Credence sought after his caress even like this, turning his head slightly so Percival's hand skimmed over his cheek, and Percival's heart broke with it. "Come, up, come here, come here," he whispered, bending down, and Credence rose to fold himself into his arms again. 

His boy. His _boy._

Percival was reeling. He was holding his own heart in his hands. And Godsdamnit, he needed to keep holding him, not dick him down, however gently. Credence needed months of softness to prepare him, not a few spare hours. 

And yet he was rock hard. 

He let his hands glide to Credence's buttocks. "Gods, you feel so good," he said. "Do you know that, lovely? How much I could take you, how much I want you." He felt the boy cling to him. "Gods, boy, you're so sexy. How you undo me."

"Then take me," the boy whispered, his head on Percival's shoulder. "Please, sir. Do it." 

Percival stopped. "Credence." 

The boy pulled back, stared at the ground. "Credence, boy, look at me." 

The boy's gaze met his for only a moment before he looked away. "You don't want me to be afraid." 

"That's right, Credence, I -" 

"I don't think I can do that, sir," he said, tone suddenly sharp. "I'm afraid of what'll happen if you, if you f..." he steeled himself. "I'm afraid of what will happen if you don't fuck me. I'm afraid of what will happen after you fuck me, I'm afraid of everything, sir I'm scared." He took a breath. "But I want this, I truly want this, and please sir, please just tell me what to do." 

"My brave boy." Percival smiled. "Take off the cloak." 

Credence swallowed. "Sir." He put his hands on the clasp. "Yes, sir." 

But he was shaking like a man condemned, and he must have been. Many times, to have his back in the state it was in, and Percival saw the ugly tale in his mind's eye. He lifted his chin. 

"I'm proud of you, you know that?" 

Credence stared at him. 

"You have borne so much, and didn't let it break you." He cupped the boy's head. "Now show me, show me that strength, and stand proud in the light of a warrior."

Credence straightened, undid the clasp and let the cloak slide off him.

"That's a good boy," Percival said, noticing the gravelly tone that had crept into his voice. "That is a lovely, beautiful boy."

Credence, who had hunched forward instinctively, looked up through his lashes. "Truly, sir? Ma says -"

"Come here, I need to feel you," Percival said, pulling them close, skin to skin, groin to groin. He grabbed Credence's buttocks and squeezed them. Credence yelped. "That's right, I want to touch you everywhere," Percival said. "And I want you to touch me everywhere. Come, Credence, have your fill."

But Credence merely rutted against him. "Ah, sir," he whimpered. "Need, sir, ah..."

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Percival recalled a rumor about some Second Salem taboo about touching oneself. He'd always dismissed it as just that, a twisted fantasy- nobody would be insane enough deny themselves such a simple and harmless pleasure, and the good it brought - the relief from pain and sadness, the way it regulated the blood and cleared the mind. What evil...

Never mind, of course she would, and his boy was bursting with a need he did not dare quench, and Percival pulled him closer still. "Sh, love, sh," he whispered in his ear, "not long, now, let me warm my hands for you." Credence stilled, and Percival smiled. "Oil, love, I asked you for a reason."

Credence dived down and Percival laughed - ah, to be that young and eager, it was a torture that was quite easy to miss. He led them both closer to the fire, to warm his hands, as promised, and simply because of the glow it would bring to Credence's beautiful backside. He massaged it as they kissed, the boy humping his leg in spite of himself, then held out his hands, palms up. "Come," he whispered. "Annoint me." 

Credence pulled out the stopper, and gazed, quite transfixed, as the oil dripped over Percival's hands. "Well done, that's enough," he said, and Credence lowered his eyes and bent yet again and Percival could come at the sight of it. Instead he turned them both until he stood behind him, took the boy's cock with his right hand and put an oiled up left index finger to his rim.

Credence bucked.

"Oh, oh sir," he panted. "Sir!" 

"There's a good boy," Percival said as Credence's head lolled back against his chest. "You take your pleasure now." 

"Oh, sir," Credence said, eyes half closed, "oh, God, sir..." 

"That's it," Percival whispered as Credence rocked into his hand. "That's good, Credence." He slipped a finger in and Credence pushed back on it. Yes, he'd take him well...

Percival softly squeezed the boy's cock to hear him gasp again. "Hmm, you're beautiful," he said, working his cock as he crooked his other finger in search of the boy's pleasure gland.

Credence moaned. "Oh, sir. Ah! O, oh... Sir!" 

Getting him off for the rest of his days, that would honestly be enough. The boy was so receptive to the merest touch. When his fingers found the boy's pleasure spot he needed a mere three taps before Credence cried and came, hard, given how worn out he undoubtedly still was.

"Good boy," Percival whispered and that made him come yet more, slumping back against him, those flushed red lips gasping and when had Percival last been this hard, he couldn't remember. But Credence's eyes widened in shock.

"No," he wailed. "Sir, I didn't - please, sir I didn't want t-"

Percival held him close. "No, my sweet boy, you did nothing wrong. This is merely to take the edge off. Do you feel it? The softness in your muscles?" 

He looked down. "I - um, I think so," he said, and then his eyes flickered to Percival's crotch. "But sir, you..."

"I can hold out longer," he said, and kissed his cheek. "And you can recover more quickly." The boy gave him a cheeky look, and Percival pressed him closer to his body. "Get on the bed," he whispered. "We're going to get you nice and comfortable." 

Credence practically ran over to the pillows, which was good, because Percival needed a moment to clean his hands. "More wine for you!" he said to Credence as the boy looked over to see why he hadn't followed, and Credence smiled. It was such a lovely grin, Percival wanted to kiss him senseless, but by now he also felt a much stronger need. Fuck, this boy!

Careful, though, careful. So very careful. He filled another cup of wine and took the flask of oil back over to the boy. "Drink with me," he said, holding the cup to the boy's lips, and then took some wine himself. Credence closed his eyes. "I think I'm getting a little dizzy, sir." 

"Then rest your head," he said, oiling up his hands again.

Mostly, people did this to him, in camp, on particularly long campaigns. And yes, he'd bedded some of them - mostly the boys, to keep the risk of bastards to a minimum, though it wasn't impossible his lord father had paid off a serf girl or two. Never bad for a young lord to have issue among his people, anyway. But his heart had never ached at the very sight of them. Credence was a revelation, an invitation, too, to be good. To be _better._

So many knots and hard places to be soothed, softened. His poor back, bent under struggle and toil, and those hands - what idiot would do that, didn't a working boy need his hands? And Credence, sweet lad, was being brave, but Percival felt the ghost of too many whippings under his own palms- this was never going to relax him enough to complete the ritual the way it was meant to, the way he deserved.

Instead he cradled him to his side, covering every inch of abused flesh with his own body. "Melt into me," he whispered. "Have you ever tried that? To lay together with another person until your skin becomes as one with theirs?"

Credence looked at him one moment, then shook his head. "Make yourself soft," Percival whispered. "You and I, there is nothing else, love. Come to me."

"Yes," Credence said, and he was choking on the word. "Yes, please, sir. I want to."

"There's a good lad," Percival said. "Sweet and soft, dear Credence."

And there he was, smooth as butter. Percival kissed him again, and let his hands wander to the boy's ass while Credence cuddled up. More tender kisses as Percival massaged his rim, probed in his fingers. "Feels good, doesn't it?" Percival said, "Being so sweet for me?"

"Yes," Credence said, breathless. " _Yes,_ sir."

"Then let me make it better," Percival said, feeling himself smile. He took Credence's buttocks in his hands and spread them. "Can you do that for me, lovely?"

Credence flushed hot - Gods, dear boy - and he did. Percival dripped more oil over his hand, massaged the boy's hole, then finally took himself in hand and pushed the very tip of his cock against the boy's entrance. "Come closer," he said. "Slow as you like. You need only come to me, sweet lad."

"Oh," Credence said. "Oh, sir, I'm..."

Percival felt his hole flutter around his cock, tight and soft and he - _fuck -_ he wanted to push in, but there was a sweet torture in the slow yielding, the inching.

Credence looked at him, marvel in his eyes, and kissed him, hard. "More," he whimpered. "More, sir, _please_!"

Gods, was the boy asking him for an actual fuck? Because Percival could do that, really he could. He pulled the boy more tightly to him and then started working him open with small, quick thrusts, hanging on to his restraint by his fingernails. "Mhm, my boy? Like this?"

Credence turned back to him and now he was the one with a fevered whisper. "Yes, sir, deeper - more- uh- I can take it," he brought out, "I will take it, _please_ sir, more."

"Talk like that will get you fucked, boy," Percival honestly growled. "Sure you can take it? Sure it won't hurt?"

And now the boy actually laughed in his face. "This doesn't hurt!"

"On your stomach, then," Percival said. "Turn!"

Percival pulled out as he did. He slathered more oil on his cock and on Credence's hole, then grabbed the boy's hips. "Deep as I can, then," he said, and his voice was gruff. "Because you asked for it, Credence." 

The boy's smile was a thing of beauty. "Yes, sir."

Percival thrust, pushed, and then simply fucked. Fucked out his anger, the stress of battle, and by all the realms of heaven, the boy _did_ take it, did meet him, his right hand holding Percival's wrist. Gods knew who was yelling more, but his hole was fluttering and he was hard, and Percival was lost in the righteousness of the victor. He'd wanted his due and now it was offered him and that was what again softened his heart. This boy offering himself for the good of his people, and what if he did want it, he would not have chosen this had he been given any sensible option. Suddenly Percival wanted to caress him. He pushed Credence against the mattress, draping his body over him, and buried a hand in his hair. "Fuck," he brought out, "boy, you're good, you're so good," but he kept thrusting, he was lost, and deeply relieved when Credence still turned to him for another sweaty kiss, licking and gasping in his mouth. "My sir," he said, "please - please..."

"Yes, my love, you're mine," he said, "fucking mine," and if any Salemers were to ambush him now, he'd kill them all with his bare hands. Credence was squirming closer to him, so he pulled out again, allowed him to turn, and guided his legs apart once more. This time, when he entered, it was gently, and he held the boy close to his heart as he worked in him, making shushing noises to his gasps, until he couldn't help it anymore. He fucked, fucked, and came, muscles clenching, gasping like a wounded animal.

A few moments of breathless rest atop him before he looked at the boy's face, wet with tears. "You alright?" he whispered, but Credence merely buried himself more deeply against his chest. Percival felt the boy's hard cock probe his thigh, and stroked the boy's side.

"I'll take care of that," he whispered, and ducked down, put his lips over the head, wet and salty with precum. He suckled and stroked, licked the boy's shaft, and Credence came in his mouth, softly this time, kittenlike whines on his lips. Percival swallowed him down and licked him clean, then took him in his arms.

"Sh, boy, you've been so good," he said, "so brave for me."

Credence clung to him. "Take me with you," he begged. "Please, sir, I have nowhere -"

This never happened. It couldn't be. The Priests saw red at the thought.

He stroked his back. "Sh, my love, I'm yours, remember? I'm your sir."

Credence looked at him, blinked slowly. "You're my sir," he said, his voice laced with doubt.

"I'm your sir," Percival said firmly. "And you're...?"

Credence sighed. "I," he said, haltingly, as if not to jinx it, "sir, I'm your boy."

Percival took his hand. "And so you are."

For a moment, Credence said nothing. Then he laid his head on Percival's chest. "I'm tired," he mumbled.

"Of course," Percival said, laying him down into the pillows.

"Go to sleep. I'm here."


	5. The dark before dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much as they love each other, this chapter deals with darker, war and abuse related themes. Please be warned.

Percival was praying.

Yeah, color him shocked. He'd never been one for begging possibly malignant deities for things he'd later have to achieve his own damn self, with no miracles to be had from anyone. Begging was common, anyway – at least that was what he had felt when ordered to do it, in the dark hours before being ordained a knight. What exactly was against that happening well-rested, he could not say. As for keeping him humble – he'd always felt rather dwarfed by the task that lay ahead of him. It was them, young men and women like him, that stood against the storms, the hordes. Their halls that had to be the refuge and protection of their people. No burning of fragrant herbs would stall an invading army, stop hailstones as big as goose eggs; no chanting would keep the stores safe from theft or sabotage or even floods. They had to provide when no peasant's hovel could hope to keep a baby warm in winter. They had to keep order and settle disputes among those that sought their council, and weren't there many squabbles to contain. _They_ were, ultimately, what stood between men and the bitter blows of fate - their swords, foresight, courage and wit and Percival did not know what to do.

He'd stopped keeping wake beside Credence because he couldn't stop fussing – adjusting the bedclothes at if their warmth could keep the coming morn at bay. Worse still was that Credence kept seeking out his touch even in sleep, at one point clinging to his hand like a lifeline and much as Percival ached to, he could not curl around his boy and keep him warm and still, because that would not save him in the end and he had to, he had to, he absolutely had to. Instead he'd taken the boy's hand and pressed his lips upon it; tucked Credence in with a kiss to his cheek and walked to the fire, with the last of the Rites' feast on tables around it.

He looked to the sky.

_What do you want?_

He could burn all the food and spill all the drink in sacrifice, but that didn't make any sense – they were the sacrifice, he and Credence, their pleasure the offering and if he had to say so himself, it was a far better offering than any Gods would have been likely to receive had they sent him a plain faced Salem girl. So with everyone presumably thoroughly satisfied – he certainly was, though he would have much preferred it if he could have drifted to sleep in a comforted haze, as was custom – why was he here, trying to keep Credence safe from two groups of people likely to be outraged by this turn of events? Much as he believed he had acted with integrity, he wasn't completely sure that other officers, even Theseus, wouldn't simply have gutted Credence in retaliation for his perceived desecration of the Rites. The Salemers, meanwhile, would consider that a kindness...

He'd have to sneak him out, that much he knew, but for that he'd have to call off the guard, and that was exactly what that woman was waiting for to launch a desperate, suicidal last stance...

“General?”

Tina. In a calm, whispered voice that told him shit was about to go down.

“Enter, Captain.”

Few of his officers would have dared to breach sanctified ground before morning had come, but that's why he liked having Tina among his closest. She had few qualms offending the Gods because – and Percival had never spoken to anyone of this – she didn't worship them. Not the same ones, anyway.

“It's good you're awake,” she whispered as she crept in. “General, the mother's going berserk. She keeps demanding to see the child -”

“Keep her out!”

“Yes, sir – of course – but she's been stirring up half the camp, and some of Kama's men keep wanting to push back. They're not beholden to the Queen, they say...”

“They're drunk and grieving,” Percival said. “It was to be expected. Is Theseus holding them off?”

“Sir -” and now Tina reverted back to the girl he knew whenever she did not wield a sword. “Since, you've, um. Finished...”

She looked so uncomfortable Percival couldn't help but grin. “Tina, I'd break this off the second I could but there've been some... irregularities.”

“Yeah, she was crying,” Tina said. “And were you hitting her?” He stared at her, and she looked back. “Which is your right, of course, sir.”

“Don't ever come to court, girl,” he said. “Title or no. Some Lord will have you hanged for inciting revolution.”

“You can't go hitting serf girls! How do you think she -”

“It's not a she.”

“Fine! How do you think he -” She stopped. “He?”

Percival nodded.

“Oh, that's not good,” she said, mostly to herself. “And you still...?”

Percival nodded again.

“Oh.” She blinked. “How does that work?”

He snorted. “Tina! Focus!”

She jerked. “Sir! I meant – has there been a Ritual? Are we at peace? What do we do?”

“We have to prepare for battle,” Percival said. “Which really won't be easy, with half of our force drunk stupid.”

“But that would mean break the Queen's peace.” She looked at him. “Or would it? I mean no disrespect, sir, I don't know what to tell our men. Should I fetch the Colonel?”

“No.” He bit his lip. “I want you to get Credence out. Disguise him as one of us.” He looked at the dress and veil, discarded on the floor. “You could switch clothes -”

Tina shook her head. “Sir, if that's what you command, but – I thought she was a girl.”

He sniffed. “He's not, Tina, I've just told you!”

“Yes – but – _I_ thought so. At first. And I never saw his face.”

That... that could work. If they dressed Credence in the dress and veil and then kept to the normal post Rites protocol, none of his troops had to learn anything about the Salem trick at all. But –

“I can't send him back there, Tina. They've cast him out completely. The second they can, they'll kill him.”

Tina looked at him, deep sorrow in her eyes. “Can I see him?” she whispered. “He was so upset when I saw him tonight.”

Percival walked to the bed. “Best let him sleep for now, Tina.”

“But could he run, sir? If I asked him?”

“Yes. You'll switch clothes, and –”

“Sir, with respect, I don't know that will work. Everybody's on edge. The Salemers are watching this place, and our people – they'll know if someone slipped out, and demand to know why. It was hard enough getting in.”

“We're risking it, Tina.”

“Sir, we don't have to.” Tina smiled. “We lead him past our troops, as we would have anyway. As soon as we're out of sight, we'll make a run for it, he and I. I expect he knows the terrain?”

“Better than any of us, I'm certain. But you're not fleeing alone. Pick several men for an escort.”

“Yes sir.” She looked at him sideways. “Am I to inform the officers?”

“No one outranking sergeant.” He pulled her into an embrace. “Thank you, Tina. Assemble your best and tell anyone else who will listen to stay alert.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “And thank you, too.”

“For what?” he said.

She gave a small smile.

“Not killing him.”

\---

Contrary to his Knight's Wake in the temple, Percival did not sleep at all for the rest of the night. At what was approximately an hour before dawn– he had snuck a quick look at the night sky, and had had another few words with Tina – he stoked the fire to reheat the water, and prepared Credence another cup of ale. Then he walked over to the bed, stroked his hair and kissed him awake. Despite his attentions, Credence woke with a violent startle.

“Have they come?”

Percival stroked his arm. “Not before morning, Credence.” He looked at him. “Did you dream - ?”

He grabbed his arm. “Sir, they will come. Ma will have told him to expect something... They will come.”

“If they breach protocol, they endanger the peace,” Percival said. “Then there's the guard -”

“Ma doesn't care about keeping the peace, sir,” Credence said. “Only you care about keeping the peace.”

“And in order to do that, we'll at least need to get you cleaned up and dressed, won't we?”

Credence grabbed his hand. “Sir, please go ready your troops. These Rites – the protocol – she cares nothing for it...”

“Indeed not.”

Behind him, Credence made a strangled sound.

Percival stepped in front of him. He could hear the opening of the flap fall back in place.

Before him stood Mary Lou Barebone, and _somebody had let her in_.

Percival frowned. “You're dead, woman.”

She smiled, cold and snakelike. “You'd kill a woman risking everything to help her suffering child?”

“I'd kill a woman desperate to bathe in the blood of her followers.”

“You'd kill your own then, for my sake?” Again, that smile. “How touching.” Percival grabbed his dagger, but Credence held him back.

“Sir, no!”

“Credence!” he hissed. “No more games. This needs to stop.”

“This will not stop,” she said. “You can kill us, General – but we're among you.” She walked over to the table and poured herself wine. “For from whence do we come, if not from among you?”

“I don't care -” but this time Credence tackled him with a force that nearly wrestled him to the ground. “No, sir. It can't be you. It can't be -”

“Guards!” But Credence smothered his cry before it had fully formed. “Ma, please – what do you want?”

“Hush, child – let the deviant have his bloodshed!”

Percival had tackled him back to the ground. “Credence, I call out again and they're killing you too,” he whispered. Is that what you want?” He grabbed his hair. “Is this a trick?”

He shook his head in Percival's grip. “No, no, sir, you don't understand...”

“Tell him then, you wanton freak,” she said, voice dangerously soft. “Thinking you could whore your way out of this -”

Percival snapped his head back. “The fuck did you say!”

“Ah, Credence, isn't it beautiful,” she smirked. “How deep he digs his way in.”

“Please, sir – please stop shouting...”

He stood up. “State what you want,” he said to Ma Barebone. “And give the poor boy a chance to cover himself.” He pulled Credence up and squeezed his hand tightly.

“It gives me no pleasure,” she said, looking like she was chewing a ringworm, “gazing upon a sinner's flesh.”

“Other than to make it bleed, I'm sure,” he said. “Still. What do you seek, other than death?” Behind him, Credence was shuffling for the cape, a sight that heartened him. His. Still his.

“Nothing you have not long given me,” she said. “Kill me now or let me live – it makes no difference.” She curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”

In that case, there was no practical reason to still be talking to him. Whatever advantage she claimed to have, his confusion would only aid it.

_Best to face off against an evil man,_ his mentors had always taught him. _Evil likes to gloat._

He straightened further. “And why should I believe you?”

She faced him. “Do you think us deaf as well as stupid, sir?” He'd never heard that word uttered with so much malice. “Did you think, that when I gave you the child of my heart in sacrifice, we would not hear how you'd treat it?”

“It's called sex,” Percival said.

“Did you think they'd not hear her sob?” Mary Lou said. “Did you not think that the first thing they'd hear you do was strike her? And her, beg for her life?”

“That misunderstanding is easily rectified,” he said.

“By announcing you've shamed your own Gods,” she smirked. “No, you didn't fall for that then, either.” She drank. “Instead, you chose to indulge your carnal perversions -”

“You haven't had a single day of fun in your whole life, have you?”

For the first time, he saw some actual righteousness in her eyes. “Do you know how many come to me, to escape the bestial attentions of their Lords -”

Percival straigthened. “If they were bestial, you'd have to have heard it from the cows.”

“They come, used and discarded, to me,” she said. “I need not call them. They seek refuge -”

“And find you,” he said. He walked towards her, but still Credence clung to him. “Listen, sir -”

“Your own people let me in!” she hissed. “And you would kill me, kill a mother desperate to help her child as a Lord satisfied his carnal lusts. Who had to stand by as the child begged him to stop, who had to listen to her scream, used like some tavern wench; a mother who got slaughtered merely trying to offer her some comfort after your violation!” She fixed him, and was actually grinning. “How would your own men see you, General? Who'd yet follow you then?”

He'd sit front row at her public boiling, but he controlled himself. “There is no reason to kill you, Mary Lou Barebone. The Rites have been administered. The pact still stands.”

“There _is_ no pact,” she said, wild glee in her eye. “I've made sure of that, and I'll tell all your heathen allies how you mocked those you revere -”

“They'll kill us all for that, Ma,” Credence said quietly. “We have a chance to walk away, unharmed. Why,” and here he choked up, “would you see us slaughtered?”

Now her look was almost tender. “There is no comfort in this life, my boy,” she said softly. “God will -”

It happened so fast that Percival replayed the moment in his head for weeks, wondering if he could have done anything; should have done anything. Credence snagged the dagger from Percival's side, aimed, and logged it straight in her chest.

“I'm not your boy,” he said, voice hitching in a dry sob.

He tried to grab him. “Credence -”

But he ran forward, wrenched the knife from her chest and started stabbing wherever he could reach. “I- am not – your boy!”

“What – what is – ” she said, but then merely screamed, though not as loud as he Credence, who kept repeating the same words – not your boy not your boy not your _boy –_ and Percival noticed with a sick feeling that dawn had begun to break and the whole camp was rushing to their tent. Three guardsmen, Theseus among them, ripped away the flap, and Percival heard his old friend gasp:

“The knife thrower...”

And Percival too, saw in his mind's eye how the knife, thrown from an impossible distance, stuck in Yusuf Kama's throat; saw other soldiers fall to this invisible threat that had forced them to retreat no less than three times.

He could have fought his way out, the logical part of his brain told him, as he watched the boy butcher his Ma in a rage, he could have defected, Gods, he could have overpowered Percival himself anytime he so wished. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd allowed himself to be used in what must have been a desperate bid for help, for peace –

And then Percival was on him, the same time as Theseus, and managed to wrench the knife from his hand as Theseus held him down. Mary Lou was yet gasping, and bleeding from some thirty wounds, her gaze still hard and hateful as he bent over her.

“Long live the Queen,” he whispered.

And slit her throat.


End file.
